


stop and start confessing

by kingdra (aroceu)



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Character Bleed, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/kingdra
Summary: Between broken laptops and takes.





	stop and start confessing

**Author's Note:**

> I was backtracking and saw "[ _Following the filming of the confrontation scene, the pair -work out their messed up emotions-. On Mark's desk._](http://mark-eduardo.livejournal.com/24101.html?thread=322853)" and suddenly I could think of nothing else. So like. You know. I make (6-year late) decisions.

Everyone else has left the set, which is only appropriate considering the headache that's been today. Jesse doesn't know the distance between himself and Mark right now, doesn't know if he _wants_ to know. There's an outer layer that's all Mark, Aaron and David's Mark, swirling with the storm that is anger and regret and forcibly repressed guilt.  
  
But underneath all that is Jesse. Just Jesse.  
  
It's been difficult to be _just Jesse_ for the past several months though, and now that Mark is in him, today, _right now_ , he can't just shake Mark off. That surface of Mark is still there, reeling back from "today's" events, playing everything from the moment Eduardo (Andrew) spun around in the glass room to face him with his headphones on, to smashing the sixtieth laptop on the desk, to scream at him, _fucking dick_ , _screwed your best friend over_ , _pretentious douchebag_. Eduardo's--Andrew's--Eduardo's? foot between the crevice of Jesse's (Mark's) thighs, the expression on Eduardo-Andrew's face torn between wanting to tell Jesse that this is not real, and to tell Mark that this is all his fault.  
  
Jesse has been sitting here for some time by himself. They're not filming the Sean phone call scene for a bit, and Jesse's just supposed to be left alone to get into the head of a lonely billionaire at the top. He snorts. He's not a billionaire, and he's certainly not at the top, but he is lonely. Not just as Mark. It's the pervasive voice in his brain, what anxiety is, telling him touch is too little and not enough. Jesse thinks he gets that, maybe, aside from all the narcissism that Mark possesses that Jesse isn't quite sure if he'll ever have the confidence to have.  
  
The set is big and fake, like the rest of the stifling rooms when they do their shoots in L.A. And it sucks and it's been lonelier than when they'd been shooting on the east coast, though Jesse's mostly just sure that that's his own vendetta against Los Angeles and nothing else. Andrew (not Eduardo) never minds moving coast to coast, drinking in the sun in any timezone like it was made for him. Jesse likes seeing Andrew happy, but there's been something strangely--vindictive, this whole day, seeing him torn apart for once.  
  
No, that's not Jesse. Those aren't Jesse's thoughts. Those are Mark's, and seeing Andrew as the face of Eduardo, even though--  
  
And intrusive thoughts are more annoying to deal with when you have two spaces in your head at once.  
  
Something in the room clicks, and he jerks his head up. He's still in the Northface, though he's not complaining. Wardrobe had given Mark and Eduardo similar fleeces intentionally. The box of _I'm CEO bitch_ business cards (they all say that; David had thought it would be funny even if only one would end up on camera) is lying on the desk, and Jesse wonders if they're about to continue filming. He's not sure if he's ready for that.  
  
But when he looks to the door off-set (the space beyond where the office is supposed to exist, black walls and black floors and camera lights), it's only Andrew. He's still dressed in his Eduardo gear--actually, it doesn't look like he's even prepared to change out and leave for the day. He was probably in his trailer to wind down. Jesse can understand the feeling.  
  
"Hey," Jesse says quietly.

He knows how to slip Mark off. It's not terribly easy--but seeing Andrew broken like this, like this faux fallout actually _shook_ him--and Jesse can't look through Mark's eyes anymore, only his own. He doesn't like seeing Andrew like this, point blank, no matter what his brain or Mark tells him.  
  
Andrew walks over to him. Jesse takes his glasses from his pocket and puts them on, in case it'll help Andrew see less through Eduardo's eyes, too. They'd created two dynamics with each other, when they'd first met--Mark-and-Eduardo and Andrew-and-Jesse. There are days where Jesse prefers Mark-and-Eduardo, because there's less--talking, less a need to reveal himself to someone else, less freneticism and more control.  
  
But there are times like this where he prefers Andrew-and-Jesse, because the moment he puts his glasses on, something in Andrew's gaze changes. He comes quicker to Jesse, hoists him up by the wrist, and--doesn't say anything, just aligns their mouths together.  
  
Jesse knows he's thinking too hard. He's thinking, _aren't you glad that we're not them?_ and _this has been a mess of a day_ and _are you alright?_ And the Sean phone call is supposed to appropriately take place in the late evening in-scene, but they're filming it late at night too, and it's pretty late already and Jesse is mildly worried about someone coming in and--seeing them like this. Andrew has a lot of scenes left to film too.  
  
Andrew is licking into his mouth and pressing open-mouthed kisses at the side of his jaw and Jesse can't stop seeing Eduardo. And between that and the very, very alive mind of Mark still in him, and--  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
It's Mark's voice, not his. Andrew pulls back, and his expression shifts again. He stills.  
  
"I--Fuck."  
  
Jesse can't tell the accent with only two words.  
  
"I missed you."  
  
Eduardo then.  
  
Jesse snorts. "Already?" he says, slipping his glasses off. "You broke my laptop and now you're coming into make up for it?"  
  
"No," says Andrew. "I broke your laptop and now I'm coming back to fuck you."  
  
Jesse's breath hitches, and Andrew's expression falters again, like he's not sure if that's okay. That is--That's an Andrew-and-Jesse thing, where they're always checking, always making sure they're in line, even if they don't talk about it. That's not something that Mark and Eduardo (on paper, anyway) ever did. Jesse doesn't want to be Mark-and-Eduardo with Andrew.  
  
Jesse steels his own gaze. "That's a lot of talk for someone whose only threat is the court," he sneers.  
  
Andrew falls back into his role again. "As if you'd really want to get humiliated in front of an audience," he says, and they're standing so close again, the electricity crackling through them, both Mark-and-Eduardo and Andrew-and-Jesse. "As if you'd want the world to know what an asshole you are."  
  
Jesse opens his mouth to reply, but Andrew doesn't let him. His grip on Jesse's waist is so tight that he's going to have bruises the shape of his fingerprints by tomorrow morning, and he doesn't so much as kiss Jesse as he is ravaging his mouth, teeth too sharp and tongue too forceful like he's trying to lick every bit of taste away out of Jesse's mouth and leave him with nothing. Leave Mark with nothing.  
  
Jesse tries to give back, tries to take back, but Andrew is pressing him against the edge of the set table so it's digging into Jesse's back. "Shit," Jesse says, trying to pull back, but Andrew just keeps leaning with him, Jesse's back arching uncomfortably as Andrew's hand gets slipped under the fabric of his thin t-shirt. "Andrew, wait," Jesse tries.  
  
Andrew jerks back, like the reminder that he's--himself, brings him back to the world. His eyes are glassy and Jesse imagines his are, too. They stare unblinkingly at each other.

Then Jesse is sitting on Mark's desk and Andrew's mouth is on Jesse again, and Jesse doesn't know if they're Mark-and-Eduardo or back to being Andrew-and-Jesse again but it doesn't matter. Andrew's palm is warm, raking over Jesse's ribs and Jesse keens because he wants Andrew and Mark wants Eduardo and both are processing in his head at once. Andrew's other hand is cupped at Jesse's jaw and Jesse is forcing, digging his fingers into Andrew's hair and scalp, tucking his ankles against the back of Andrew's knees and needing more. He is Jesse and he is Mark and he needs--he _needs_ \--  
  
Andrew leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the side of Jesse's neck that makeup is going to hate him for later. (Jesse is pretty sure the makeup team gossips about them every day at lunch.) Jesse doesn't care who he's supposed to be anymore, but when Andrew bites, licks, _bites_ , Jesse says, "Andrew, _please_."  
  
"You want to be fucked?" Andrew again, then, the accent not an accent, just Andrew. "Want me to bend you over Mark's desk and fuck you, Jess?"  
  
God, it's--Mark would hate it, would hate that someone with his face and with Eduardo's face and--"Fuck me, Andrew, fuck me with Eduardo's cock," Jesse breathes, as Andrew skates his nails over Jesse's nipples.  
  
Andrew's fingers stutter. "Shit, Jess," he says, and kisses one of the marks on Jesse's collarbone lovingly before, in one swift motion, yanking down his shorts and spinning him around to face the desk.  
  
Jesse takes deep breaths, before he hears the sound of a bottle clacking open, and looks over his shoulder to see Andrew coating his fingers. "Were you carrying that in Eduardo's jacket?" he says, bewildered.  
  
And it feels a bit weird, acknowledging the situation, like breaking the fourth wall. But Andrew rolls his eyes and says, "As if I'd leave my trailer without it." He strokes the skin above Jesse's backside, up beneath his shirt, warm on warm, and Jesse knows it's just him. Jesse watches, and waits; Andrew bites his bottom lip before slipping the first of a cool wet finger inside him, the intrusion strange as always but no longer foreign.  
  
Jesse knows that Andrew likes his reactions (that Eduardo likes Mark's reactions)--but today, right now, he's feeling stubborn. He schools his nerves to be as calm and controlled as possible, moreso than ever, to watch Andrew watch him expectantly, to see the angry glint in his eyes when he realizes that Jesse is just watching him, bored. "What are you doing?" Andrew mutters. His tone is unreadable; his breath whispers against Jesse's skin.  
  
"Waiting for you to fuck me," Jesse answers. He doesn't know who he's being, either.  
  
Andrew huffs, though whether it's out of annoyance or laughter is still indiscernible. But he keeps his long middle finger steady within Jesse, gliding in and out of his tight hole, knuckle curling and uncurling, and Jesse bites down on his lip.  
  
Andrew ducks his head down then, and Jesse knows exactly what's coming but it's still a surprise at the feeling of the plush tongue against him, warmer than the finger, wet on the rim of Jesse's sensitive skin. " _Oh_ ," Jesse can't help but let out, and he swears Andrew smirks against him. Andrew is slow, indelibly, licking at the same pace as his single finger, pushing in and out and turning on Jesse there and not quite. His tongue is smooth, taking his damn time, and Jesse squirms, needing Andrew to go faster, needing this to be _proper_ sex.  
  
"Did you really want to fuck me or was that a ploy," and yes, he's gotten Mark's voice back, grumbling.  
  
To his disappointment, Andrew lifts off of him completely. "Are you that fucking desperate for it?" He's Eduardo again, chaos in his normally soft eyes.  
  
"You're the one who--"

But then Andrew--Eduardo?--Andrew shoves three fingers into him, and Jesse breaks off with a loud gasp. His fingers dig deep and the stretch burns, but Jesse wants it, leaks for it, cock so fucking hard with his thighs pinned to the edge of the table and Andrew fingerfucking him deep. Andrew fastens his mouth on Jesse's again, between their teeth, growls, "Is this hard enough for you? Or are you just a whore for cock?" Andrew is slipping; the accent is coming back. "You need to fuck others just so they'll fuck you back."  
  
Jesse doesn't know who to call him--Andrew can get as deep into Eduardo's head as he can get into Mark's, but in a different way--and the rhythm of Andrew's fingers has found Jesse's prostate, his thighs twitching and twitching, ass desperate to have Andrew inside him again. "Shit, just, fuck," he babbles out, eyes welling with desperation. " _Please._ "  
  
"Please? So you'll beg for it now?" Andrew's eyes flash dark, and he's terrifying and hot and Jesse wants to get fucked, wants to get fucked by Andrew, Eduardo, wants to be filled, wants to be _owned_. "What'll you do for it, love?"  
  
Jesse lets the thought of Eduardo calling Mark _love_ in and out of his head. "A-Anything," he tells Andrew. "Just, anything," and it's like with every second they're new people, Mark Jesse Mark Jesse Eduardo Andrew Eduardo Andrew _Andrew_ \--  
  
Andrew's tongue slides against his, and Jesse kisses back, desperate. Andrew licks himself and Jesse off of him, and Jesse wants to be left with nothing, wants Andrew to take all of him. A string of spit glides between their lips, breaks when Andrew says, "You'll do anything for my big cock, baby?"  
  
Jesse whimpers. He nods.  
  
"You'd bend over to get Mark punished?"  
  
And Jesse realizes--Andrew's doing this for Eduardo, he's getting vengeance for him. He wants Jesse to be complicit, and it's only two characters on a piece of paper and in a camera but suddenly Jesse wants it too, wants Andrew to use him to punish--to punish him. _Not you_ , but Mark is still at the forefront of his mind, and Jesse is going to get fucked on Mark's desk.  
  
Jesse says, "Yes, baby," against Andrew's mouth, and Andrew makes a broken noise, slipping just this once. Then he's getting his pants open and Jesse muscles are relaxing and he is open and gaping for Andrew to fill him up.  
  
Andrew pushes into him thickly, and Jesse doesn't try to hold back the whimpers anymore. There's no more pretense like with his finger and tongue, no holding back like Jesse's noises. Andrew thrusts into him in earnest, bending forward so that the scrape of his black suit jacket and button up are pressed against the back of Mark's northface, and he slams into Jesse so hard that Jesse's elbow slips and he knocks the package of _I'm CEO bitch_ cards to the floor. Neither of them pay any mind; Andrew murmurs into Jesse's ear, "You're doing so good, Jess," and Jesse moans because it's Andrew as Andrew, pressing praises into his skin, squeezing Jesse's thighs before wrapping around his dick. His trousers are scraping against the back of Jesse's knees with each of his thrusts, but Jesse doesn't care. He lets out little broken sobs as Andrew rolls his hips, screwing Jesse in the perfect spots, twines their fingers together, tenderly.  
  
Andrew has all the control and Jesse has none, with the working of Andrew's hand around his own cock and Andrew pulsating inside him, and Jesse just wants this--not Mark, not even himself--to be all he knows, how hot Andrew feels around his hole, how full he feels when Andrew comes inside of him, how wet and dripping and still open he is for Andrew when Andrew pulls out but shoves his fingers back in, old new old with the width and the motions of Andrew being inside of him again. "Come for me, babe," Andrew says, "get Mark's desk all messy with your spunk," and that's it for Jesse, moaning out his orgasm as Andrew curls his fingers and strokes him and Jesse's toes squeeze together as his come spurts onto the plastic surface.

He turns back around and mashes their lips together, hungryhungryhungry just for the taste of Andrew and no one else. Andrew is wearing Eduardo's jacket and shirt and pants, but he's all Andrew as he kisses back, sweetly, cupping the swell of Jesse's ass and squeezing gently. Jesse smiles and grinds ever so slightly against him; both their cocks are still out and oversensitive and Andrew groans a little. He leverages himself back to sit on the table, and Andrew follows--Andrew always follows.  
  
They break apart again for Andrew to get his underwear and slacks back on, to help Jesse back into his own clothing. "It's a miracle that no one came in," Andrew says, as Jesse sits back on the desk, smearing his own come on the back of shorts. He supposes he should feel guilty but he's not sure if there are any tissues lying around.  
  
"Makeup probably warned people to stay out when we're alone," he says to Andrew, swinging his legs.  
  
Andrew chuckles. "Yeah," he says, and kisses Jesse again. It's strange to feel like Andrew-and-Jesse again--organically, no one else--when they look like this, but Jesse can feel it. Maybe it has something to do with Andrew's dick having just been in his ass to know that Andrew had let it all out himself.  
  
Jesse wraps his arms on Andrew's shoulders, around his neck. "You should probably go, the others will need to come back soon," he says forlornly.  
  
"Ugh," says Andrew, and rests his forehead against Jesse's shoulder. "But we need to christen the conference room, too."  
  
"Andrew," Jesse says warningly, and Andrew pulls back and laughs.  
  
"I'm joking," he says. "Unless you really want to do that later."  
  
"I'll consider it," says Jesse.  
  
Andrew laughs again. "Okay, okay, I'm going," he says, and withdraws even though Jesse feels lost at the lack of touch. Andrew's fingers linger against Jesse's own though, and, brightly, he says, "I'll see you back at the apartment?"  
  
"If I make it out of here by tonight," says Jesse, and Andrew flashes him a grin before disappearing.  
  
Almost immediately, like they'd known, Jesse is left only for half a second with his thoughts before David bursts in and shouts, "Okay, we're back on track! Lights, we'll need you to--okay, you got it. And who knocked the CEO bitch cards on the floor? Someone pick that up please. Jesse," he makes his way to Jesse, who's sat back down on his chair, the way he was before. "You're alright? Good to go?"  
  
Either he doesn't notice the dirty desk or pretends not to, though it doesn't particularly matter when someone (probably from makeup) comes over to wipe it down and put the CEO bitch cards back on anyway. "Yeah," says Jesse, letting Mark fall back into place, the resentment, apathy, and the persona of control cloud his mind again.

But his thighs are sore and his ass is still a bit slick and he tries not to smile at that. "I'm good here."


End file.
